


Switching Sides

by CG2



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Autobalanced! Jake and Dwight are now attacking, Gen, M/M, The Traitors, big yikes for these poor boys, edge over 9000 btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CG2/pseuds/CG2
Summary: Jake Park remembered nothing but uncontrollable rage.And the blood that had coated his hands and arms as the hatchet in his hand made contact with the writhing form beneath him again and again.





	1. A Flash in the Pan

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chapter story, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end. Or perhaps, the beginning of something they can only wish was the end.

Jake Park remembered nothing but uncontrollable _rage_.  
And the blood that had coated his hands and arms as the hatchet in his hand made contact with the writhing form beneath him again and again.

He should have been afraid. The heartbeat roaring in his ears stemmed from the very creature he had pummeled into the earth, and yet his primal instincts had taken over, and he had suddenly realized, far too late, that he was _not_ the one in control.

Worse yet was the absolutely terror-stricken expression on Dwight’s pale face, his eyes widening in shock as a _survivor_ turned the tables in the most brutal way imaginable right before him. If he was honest with himself, Jake couldn’t quite comprehend what he had done until after the creature beneath him had been drained of its life, and his petrified companion had released his hold on it. 

They hadn’t moved. He remembered it clearly. They hadn’t even gotten the chance to move, and the fog had consumed them, darkening their vision and pulling them both away. It was only then that he realized he had done something horribly, horribly _wrong_. 

He shouldn’t have done it.

God, _he shouldn’t have done it_. Why did this happen?

And what now?

…

_Jake- Run!_

_Get the fuck off him, asshole!_

_Hmph- you little shit! Argh-!_

_Dwight, grab him!_

_W-what!?_

_Grab him for fucks sake!_

…

In the cold darkness, he saw and heard nothing. Nothing except for faint whimpering that made his blood run cold and his numb limbs freeze. Its familiarity disturbed him greatly. He knew too well whom it belonged to. 

By the time his heavy eyelids had managed to slip open, the whimpering had evolved into soft crying, originating from somewhere behind him, not too far away. Groaning, he moved to lift his head but collapsed almost immediately, pain flaring in what felt like every inch of his body. The crying was growing louder now. His heart ached. He needed to put an end to it.

His felt as if he was being crushed alive, but it wasn’t just because of the unbearable pain he felt in the entirety of his body. It was something else… This feeling that _he was at fault_. He was the reason there were tears being spilt just a few meters away from him. He’d fucked up.

He didn’t know why.  
Didn’t know how.

What the fuck did he do? 

…

_S-shit-_

_Let go of me you whiny pathetic- AARH!_

_Jake, J-jake stop-_

_FUCK! YOU!_

_AARH-FF-_

_Jake, w-we shouldn’t-_

_How’s it feel, asshole? Little taste of your own medicine-_

_JAKE!_

…

He felt as if he was drowning in the fog. It was in his mind, his lungs, all around him, embracing every inch of his body. He wanted out.

_He wanted out._

But the persistent crying kept him grounded. It stopped him from escaping into his mind, into slumber. Away from this godforsaken place and that sound behind him. 

Jake Park was not one to easily give in to emotion. It was even rarer to catch him physically showing what he felt, as his poker face was permanent and impenetrable. But now, Jake was sure the suffocating fear he felt was written clearly over his face. 

He was sure he was trembling, shaking as the numbness in his body only worsened, eyes staring emptily into the endless forest. The crying had suddenly changed to what sounded like choking, desperate breaths being taken as the being behind him struggled for air. 

He felt sick. He couldn’t breath much himself. His throat had closed without his permission, and he found himself making disturbingly similar sounds to the mysterious figure behind him. 

_I’m going to die…_

A particularly harsh strangled breath behind him reminded him he was not alone.

… 

_Heh… eh…. stupid… fuck…_

_Oh god, oh god- we s-shouldn’t have-_

_Shit… Dwight I-_

_I’m s-so f-fucking scared-_

_We… We’ll figure something out…_

_J…Jake…?_

…

Jake bolted upright, panting heavily into the cold night air. A chill ran up his spine as he lifted a hand and grabbed his head, feeling something that shouldn’t have been there. Frowning, he wrapped his gloved hands around the cloth that had appeared around his head and tugged, flinching when the movement caused sharp pain to race through his head. 

_Guess not…_ He thought to himself as he lowered his hand, finally taking the time to observe his surroundings. Suddenly, something else seemed rather off. The woods around him were in clear focus, but his range of sight had diminished considerably. Lifting a hand to his left eye, he froze. He didn’t see his hand.

Moving it up and down over his eye in disbelief, he realized that his left eye was covered in the cloth he had failed to tear off his head. Grumbling, he clumsily pulled himself up, already searching the area for Claudette. She’d update him on the state of these injuries… he didn’t remember ever getting. 

He definitely didn’t remember getting stabbed in the eye or something. Huffing in annoyance, it took him a moment to notice the glint of metal shining around his waist. Glancing down, he froze once more. There was an abundance of hatchets resting in a makeshift pouch wrapped tightly around his hip. Confusion rising at an exponential level, Jake took another worried look around, trying his best to identify the particular part of the woods he guessed he had passed out in. 

His failure to figure out where he was only made him more anxious as he started stumbling past the trees, slowly getting used to his hindered sight. This was new. And though new definitely served to cure his boredom, he’d rather return to routine than have to suffer through the fear that was now flooding his system. 

He stopped abruptly at a soft sound coming a little ahead of him. Taking a deep breath, he slowly approached the noise on unsteady legs. Ready to bolt at any second, he allowed himself to peak past the tree that was obscuring his sight from the origin of the noise. 

A figure sat huddled in the grass, curled tightly upon itself as it sobbed uncontrollably. A much more frightening chill went down Jake’s spine as he took in the sight of the figure, slowly succumbing to the terror that was overtaking him. 

That couldn’t…

_Possibly be…_

 

“Dwight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try my hardest to make Jake and Dwight's "killer versions" my own, and I know I have slightly failed in that regard by wrapping Jake's eye in gauze but trust me, there is a reason for it. This will be the first multi-chapter pic I post on here. Hopefully, I get some more chapters in soon, though I am going on a several week long vacation. I'm aware the whole survivor turned killer thing isn't really original, but I will try my best to put an interesting spin on it. Once again, I hope it was entertaining, and I hope the next chapters will be too.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fog is unrelenting, and darkness is closing in. Is there a chance for a glint of humanity to shine through?

Broken was the only word Jake could use to describe the shaking form beneath him. At the mention of its name, the creature had done nothing but sobbed harder, wailing into the earth below. Somehow, he knew those cries were ones of immense pain, and that he had gotten off easy with the dull ache in his eye and in his chest. 

Panic seized his chest as he approached rapidly, kneeling down next to the shuddering figure and pulling it into his arms. He grimaced as the thing in his arms cried only harder at this action, coating his shoulder with tears as it clung to him. 

The saboteur himself was near tears, rocking the figure in his arms back and forth. 

_God… what happened… why? Why?_  
Why are we here?  
Why does it hurt so much? 

Jake stared petrified at the dense, dark woods surrounding them. The fog circled them mockingly, the sounds of the forest sounding eerily similar to laughter as the Entity cackled at their broken forms. 

_Failures…  
What failures!_

Choking on his own sobs, Jake buried his face into the other man’s shoulder, squeezing his one untouched eye shut. The forest grew only louder, the fog inching only closer. The world was spinning.

The world was ending.

The laughter was unbearable, Jake couldn’t even hear his thoughts anymore. An entirely animalistic roar ripped out of his throat as he attempted to scream down the horrific noise surrounding them. The forest only howled harder with laughter at his vain attempts, rising exponentially in volume before suddenly…

Silence. Jake remained frozen in place with the smaller man still sobbing in his arms, not daring to open his eyes. After a moment, he let his shoulders sag.

The forest was quiet once more. For how long they remained there, Jake couldn’t tell. 

Eventually, the shell of a man beneath him quieted, moving to wipe the tears from his… one eye. One eye. Just like Jake. 

With a grimace, the saboteur noted the color. The leader’s one uncovered iris glowed a bright, unnatural orange, piercing the darkness around them. He realized that his own eye but be a similar color, if their matching appearances were anything to go by. 

Holding his friend at an arm’s distance, he observed Dwight’s bandaged body. 

His arms were almost entirely covered in thick, dirty bandages with a piece of cloth covering his right eye instead of his left, along with gauze tightly wrapped around his chest and right shoulder. He wore his usual office work clothes sans the striped tie which was instead wrapped around his wrist along with a…

Jake flinched as he suddenly noticed the heavy amounts of crimson welling up in Dwight’s bandaged right hand. A piece of broken glass was grasped tightly in it, its sharp edges digging into its owners already abused skin. Moving to grab it, he frowned when Dwight jerked away from him.

“Dwight, you’re hurting yourself-“

A deep howl from within the woods startled the pair, allowing Dwight to hide his injured hand behind his back before turning his head to the side. 

There, just before them, lay two dirtied, huge, hollowed out crow heads. Stray feathers marked each and almost delicately adorned both the backsides and tops of the heads. One had horns that tilted upwards and a small dark crack down the left eye, while the other had horns that tilted downwards with a dark crack interrupting the right eye. Jake’s eyes widened as their sudden appearance clicked into place. Not heads.  
Masks. 

Dwight seemed to catch on right away as well, audibly gulping as he stared the contraptions down. It was clear whose mask belonged to whom, thanks to the very visible marks around the eyes on both of them paired with the cloth that obscured both Jake and Dwight’s vision. 

The mask with the cracked left eye belonged to Jake.  
The mask with the cracked right eye belonged to Dwight.   
It was insultingly obvious. 

The smaller man surprised the saboteur by reaching for his mask first, albeit with a pathetic sniffle. Jake observed as the dirty feathers grazed his friend’s pale skin before being picked up by the leader. Taking a moment only to outline the mask with his eyes, Dwight carefully moved it up to his face.

The taller man couldn’t help but to watch as if hypnotized, witnessing as his friend transformed from a shuddering, broken man into a monstrous creature of the night. The mask hid the entirety of his face, the only thing visible from beneath being the one, unnaturally bright orange eye shining from within its left eye socket. 

It suddenly struck Jake just how genuinely terrifying his friend’s appearance was. But of course, Jake can’t look much better. From what he’s observed, they have nearly identical costumes. 

Forcing himself to look down at his form, Jake took note of the bandages that adorned his own body, placed in nearly the exact same spots as the ones that covered Dwight. The only difference between them were the hatchets that rested heavily around the saboteur’s hips and the glass in the leader’s hand that faintly glittered in the nearly invisible moonlight. 

A message from the Entity.

_We’re in this together._

Turning back to look at the monster before him, he attempted to comprehend what his once friend had turned into before his very eyes. 

_A true creature of the night, shattered glass in hand…  
Covered in filth and blood, nothing but bloodlust filling its veins as it hunts what once used to be its closest companions…_

His eyes traveled back to the now lonely mask laying on the ground, neglected by its rightful owner. With a heavy sigh, he stepped towards it and kneeled down, letting his fingers curl into the disgusting, black feathers. 

He ignored the hopelessness that flooded him as he lifted it to his face, taking one last moment to observe the world around him without it. His final moments as a human were ticking away, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to miss them…

Maybe because he had ceased to be human long ago.  
A depressing thought to be sure but…   
Survivors aren’t really human anymore, are they?

Not when they are completely desensitized to the one thing that all living creatures fear.  
Death’s door is now a constant destination; it is not one to be feared. 

So perhaps there is nothing to miss anyways. 

Taking one final breath, the killer closed his eyes and secured his new face. One menacing, glowing eye was the only thing that greeted the forest when the second born creature of the night lifted its head and saw once more, but only with murderous intent. 

A glint of orange, and the darkness was empty once more. 

And all the while, somewhere far away…  
A campfire full of people mourned. Some wandered into the darkness to find traces of their lost friends, some stayed near the fire and attempted to put together the shattered pieces of their crumbling hope.

And every single one was completely oblivious to the emotional torture that lurked just around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be working on the next chapter but can't tell when it will come out. Still in the midst of vacation, so I apologize if the writing isn't great. Fleshing out what the killer versions look like though! I even have sketches now, might link em soon enough. Once again, hope it was decent.


	3. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time to put the two creatures of the night to the test. Their very first trial commences.

Eight people were not present around the eternal campfire.  
Two simultaneous trials were occurring, and though this was not unheard of, it certainly hadn’t happened in a long time.  
Their timing was obviously thought out, as they had begun at seemingly the same second. It seemed the Entity had something in store for the drained, nearly hopeless survivors.  
But what, none of them could be completely sure. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

The fabricated night sky loomed hauntingly above the lone figure slowly sitting up in the misty darkness, holding its head as it took a look around. The familiar ironworks materialized around the rugged scrapper who lifted himself up with a pained groan, holding his already bleeding side. 

Huffing, he studied his torn open abdomen and silently cursed the Entity, using rather colorful vocabulary in his mind. He didn’t always start a trial injured, but sometimes, the Entity decided to be purposely cruel and force him to begin and remain injured during the entirety of a round against a perfectly capable killer. 

“No mither,” King whispered to himself, moving his eyes to an untouched generator in the distance. Limping over, he crouched down and carefully tangled his fingers with the hanging wires, expertly rearranging them. 

Letting his hands take over, he fell into a mindless pattern of connecting and disconnecting wires. Although the silence was welcome at first, it slowly began to unnerve him. There were no signs of anyone: not a killer, not any other survivor, not even the sound of generators powering on or hex totems exploding. 

The scrapper disregarded the lack of noise after a while, but kept his eyes peeled on his surroundings. He was almost certain it was a silent killer who was cautiously stalking him or the others from the bushes, searching for the optimal time to strike. He shuddered at the thought of that new white, screaming mask leaning from behind a wall and staring at him without him noticing, sucking the life out of him and marking him as an easy target. 

Well, at least there would be no point to that power, as he was injured already. Chuckling nervously to himself, he reached for the last pair of wires and connected them. The generator rumbled to life and a bright light flooded both David and the surrounding area making his heart spike in his chest at both the unnecessary amount of light and sound coming from the machine in front of him. 

Thankfully, as he quietly snuck away from the finished generator, no thudding heartbeat or harsh breathing met his ears. Not one to hide, he instantly headed over to the neighboring machine, secretly hoping to encounter a friendly face. Alas, it stood cold and untouched with no signs of life having ever grazed it. 

The silence was beginning to annoy him, and the paranoia building within his chest was slowly driving him insane. Hopefully, the Entity had forgotten to send a killer into this trial. It had done it before, no matter how flawless it strived to be. David smiled at the thought, but something told him they weren’t getting off that easy this round. 

Kneeling down once more he hissed as pain sprouted from the injury in his side. Giving it a glare, he grumbled before inserting his already oily hands into the generator. 

A sudden cold instantly sent a shiver down his back, hairs rising on the back of his neck. It swept over his form in one wave, entirely encasing him. It turned his blood icy as his hands froze within the quarter done machine, fight or flight instincts kicking in without his consent.

His body’s behavior annoyed him, as he was not one to freeze up in tense situations. He would beat the hell out of anything that threatened him or his family, whether it be some drunk bastard on the streets or an eight-foot-tall killing machine sent by some horrific deity in the sky. 

But something about this sudden cold unsettled him greatly, and he felt as if this was not the most uncomfortable thing he was to feel in this trial. He felt as if the cold was a precursor, a prerequisite to something far more horrific.

David King was not given the chance to anticipate before he felt his throat constrict and his chest tighten involuntarily, his body seizing up as emotional agony suddenly took hold of him. To say he was disturbed would be an understatement, as suddenly all control spiraled out of his hands. 

It somehow felt worse than being shocked until insanity, running around with his hands around his head as fake pallets and laughing doctors mockingly materialized before disappearing around him. This felt so much more horrible, and he could not understand for the life of him why. 

The primary, raging feeling that blossomed in his chest and suffocated him was strange, yet familiar. He hadn’t felt it many times, he could barely recognize it for what it was. But he had felt it once before. He knew what this was. He knew what he was choking on, what was blocking off his air and making him suddenly cower on the ground. 

_Betrayal._

He felt so fucking _betrayed_. By what, and by who, he didn’t know but all he knew was that _someone had let him down tremendously_. He felt so fucking horrible.

Cursing himself, King hoisted himself up to his feet, growling at his body’s stiffness and hesitance to move. 

“Move, ye’ bloody fool!” he quietly snarled at himself, forcing his legs to take him in what felt like the opposite direction of the slowly growing feeling. To his relief, it subsided, but only slightly. 

King was now running as fast as his feet could take him, none the wiser as to who or what exactly was chasing him. He would rather not find out. He wasn’t in the position to beat the shit out of them. Not while injured and mentally unstable. 

His eyes widened at the sound of footsteps other than his own, matching his pace and growing louder by the second. They sounded lighter than those of other killers. Rather, they sounded lighter than even his own. The breathing behind him also seemed to be coming from strictly behind him, rather than from somewhere above him. Only now did he register the heartbeat that had only appeared after the overwhelming feeling of betrayal had washed over him. It was loud and unpleasant in his ears, and yet there was something off about it.

David’s half-panicked mind could not identify the difference, however, so he entirely disregarded the oddities. Hope was slowly draining out of him as he continued to run, keenly aware of the shrinking distance between himself and the murderer behind him. If he had to guess, it was one of the Legion having a bad day. Surely, they would have slashed at him at least once by now. That wouldn’t explain the emotional turmoil he had initially felt when the heartbeat faded into his ears, however, and the remaining residue of said turmoil. 

He realized he still felt greatly disturbed, the feeling of betrayal dulled but not completely gone. 

The sight of a pallet in the near distance brought energy to his abused legs, a lopsided grin adorning his face as he secured his safety by flying past the piece of abandoned wood and slamming it down behind him. The pained sound behind him made his blood run cold for the second time that trial. He did not recognize it. And yet, there was an odd familiarity to it. 

Whipping his head around, he finally managed to take a good look at the killer before instantly regretting it. His mouth fell open for the first time in genuine shock as he took in the sight before him. A horrific crow mask stared back at him, sharp beak pointed downwards and pointy horns tilting south on either side of its head, empty eye sockets meeting his gaze as he unconsciously took a step away from the creature in front of him. 

His eyes trailed downwards to the monster’s body and…  
A familiar office shirt wrapped in countless bandages greeted his eyes, and further down, a pair of blood stained black pants he had seen countless times in countless trials. And finally, he saw the tie wrapped around the killer’s left hand, black and orange, tightly grasped in its bloody palm with its right bandaged counterpart instead holding a piece of bloodstained glass. 

David felt his heart drop into his stomach, the feeling of betrayal rising exponentially in his chest as he suddenly choked again. This time, it felt as if he was drowning in it, unable to breathe as the disappointment, anger and fear completely and totally engulfed him. 

How could he? How _fucking_ could he?

He was their leader. How dare he abandon them? 

The scrapper’s head felt as if it would burst from the amount of unanswered questions swimming in it, the emotional agony reaching what felt like a climax as he stumbled back even further as the killer regained its balance before an orange eye opened to meet King’s. 

David saw hesitance in that eye clouded by immense bloodlust, but knew better than to hope that he would ever truly get through to their lost leader. But the hesitance was enough. 

Biting his cheek hard enough to draw blood, he sprinted away without a second glance, inwardly cursing himself, his four-eyed friend, and above all, the horrible Entity that cackled at their suffering far above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for cutting it off there, but I wanted to give you guys something after a one week wait. More coming hopefully next week. Love you all, feedback is greatly appreciated. Your comments honestly make my day.


	4. Meanwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matters are significantly worse in the sibling trial happening at the same time as the first, and the new killers' powers are further explored.

Quentin Smith was having a rather bad trial. Well, that was an understatement.

He’d been slashed open multiple times now and was delirious from blood loss and the overwhelming amount of pain that coursed through his body, but to his dismay the physical pain was the least of his worries. What really got to him was something entirely different. 

There were two things that had thrown him into a blind panic at his first encounter with this new killer. One, they looked awfully familiar, but were wearing clothes too dark for him to really make out their features through the mist. While being chased, his mind was too focused on choosing the next corner to round or the next window to vault, and while he did occasionally look back, he still couldn’t make out much in the darkness thanks to the heat of the moment. All he had really managed to take note of was the horrifying head of a crow masking the killer’s face, hollow eye sockets with a hint of orange searing into his mind. 

Two was what he felt the _instant_ a faint heartbeat reached his ears. Words could not fully describe the emotions that overtook him in that instant, but an attempt nonetheless is required to be made. 

There were many things Quentin regretted. Many moments he wished he had lived differently, many people he wished he could have saved. Watching so many of his friends die at the hands of Freddy was not easy in the slightest, and each death carved a deeper hole in his chest, one that was often filled with negative thoughts and feelings towards himself. 

In no way did he like or respect himself, as those deaths, so _fucking many_ of them, he somewhat blamed himself for. But in the end, he knew that no matter what, he couldn’t have prevented them. And that thought, as sick and horrible as it was, always made him feel slightly better. 

Quentin Smith knew how it felt to dislike himself. Knew what it was like to be disappointed in his own actions. 

But he had never in his life experienced _self-loathing_.  
Such self-hatred that, in fact, he felt he was in the wrong for _existing_. 

He felt a sudden desire to hurt himself, to hand himself over to death willingly so it would erase the miserable excuse of a human being he had become that had done nothing but failed and inadvertently caused harm during the course of its life. 

It had hit him so hard he had doubled over, barely registering the heartbeat in his ears as he nearly convulsed in response to the emotional agony. He remembered falling to the ground and holding his head, a pathetic sight to behold but by god _he was suffering like never before_.

_Completely worthless, pathetic, deserving nothing but pain, humiliation, and death that couldn’t come quick enough because he had existed for seventeen years too long-_

-and what saved him was the wrongness. He realized these thoughts were entirely out of place, because even though Quentin knew he was not perfect, he respected himself enough to know he hadn’t completely failed at life, or at endless pain-filled purgatory for that matter. 

A small part of him screamed through the noise filling his head, urging him to move away from the heartbeat of the approaching killer. But the dizzying emotions had slowed him down enough for the killer to swipe at his exposed back embarrassingly quickly, and he had found himself on a hook far too early for his liking. Even while hanging, he had not been able to make out much of the killer, their already dark clothes covered in dirt and blood.

But he could swear he saw a hint of dark yellow and green, colors he felt were familiar, but why he could not tell. 

In the present moment, if he was to be placed on a hook, he would die. A distant scream of agony filled him with shameful relief for a moment as he stumbled and collapsed against a wall, slowly sliding down and leaving a trail of dark red stains. The relief he felt instantly evaporated when a menacing bell chimed, but without a scream. A cold shiver ran through him as the deafening sound of the sky splitting apart filled his head. He managed to glance up just in time to see dark claws descending and claiming a sacrifice. The second one that round. 

Very suddenly, warm hands were touching his shoulders and attempting to find the source of the bleeding, words being spoken to him but he was too delirious to make sense of them. The blurry face of Claudette entered his vision as she fussed over him, dragging dirty bandages across his torso and using a hand to lift his back off of the wall.

“I-I’m dead weight, Claud,” he sputtered out, blood suddenly clogging his throat and seeping out of his mouth and onto his chin. She shushed him, predictably, and instead hauled him off of the wall and onto his feet. He groaned but cooperated, rolling his shoulder to test the bandages.

“T-thanks,” he whispered but was once again shushed as she urged him towards another generator, almost completed. Hope sparked in the injured boy’s chest as he saw the generator’s progress, cracking a smile when he realized that it was also the last one they needed to power the gates. 

The botanist was understandably on edge. Though she hadn’t bumped into the new killer, she had heard the screams of other survivors, including Quentin’s own. The thought caused him to frown. The killer was definitely effective, _skilled_ he would even say in tracking them down. It was strange that he or she hadn’t caught Claudette at least once yet.

Maybe the killer did bump into her but was simply busy chasing someone else? Could it be Claudette was getting exceptionally lucky with hiding spots this round? Could it possibly be they were _purposely avoiding-?_

A hand gently urged his own into the generator and dark brown eyes gave him a worried glance, later leaving his face to instead focus on the wires in from of them. Letting out a sigh, he composed himself and attempted to help his teammate. They still had a chance.

The fourth piston began to move. 

Almost there.

Just a little bit more and-

The sound of the exit gate blared in the distance and rang across the field, but Quentin did not hear it. He couldn’t help the scream that ripped from his throat as pain so fierce he felt his head was about to split open took hold him. His chest tightened and his arms shook as he screamed uncontrollably into the night. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Claudette’s wide eyes staring at him, filled with worry and fear. She attempted to calm him at first before jerking up right at the sound of an approaching heartbeat.

The pain ceased just as abruptly as it had appeared, replaced by a dull ache. Finally, the involuntary screams ceased in his throat and he hunched over, gasping in air. A strong grip on his arm started to tug him away from the heartbeat, but his limbs felt as if they had turned to lead. The self-loathing had returned _ten times over_.

He had no will to move. He felt it was inhuman to hate himself this damn much, he just wanted to honestly die. What was the point? _What was the fucking point?_

Claudette was staring at him, horror-stricken and confused.

“Quentin, move!” she shrieked, tugging harder, but Quentin did nothing but sag to his knees. 

“Q-Quentin,” Claudette choked out, her grip on his arm tightening. Tears that he hadn’t realized had welled up in his eyes rolled down his bloodied cheeks, leaving trails of peach among the red. A second hand joined the one tugging him now, and Claudette attempted with all her strength to lift the boy up, but as he had said previously, he was nothing but _dead weight_. He remained still, head hanging as sobs escaped him. 

“O-oh God,” the woman stuttered out and finally let go, hairs rising on her neck as the sound of the heartbeat thundered in her ears. “I-I’m so sorry, Quentin,” she whispered, “I-I don’t know what to do-“

At the sight of the killer, the brunette woman turned and ran, not even glancing back to figure out who exactly she had been playing against this whole round. Perhaps she just didn’t want to watch what was about to happen. 

Quentin shuddered in the cold darkness of the dead woods surrounding the run-down asylum, basking in the bright bloody light of the red stain and drowning in the cacophony of beating hearts. 

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move his limp limbs, and the horrible sobs continued to seep from his mouth as fat tears coated his face. 

After everything he had endured.  
After the deaths of all of his friends, after getting trapped in this fucking hell-hole, after his encounter with Freddy in that god-forsaken basement with that hole in the wall…

He felt as if all of his nightmares had coalesced into the one terrifying figure that stood just before him, wielding a dirty, gory hatchet in its right hand. And the worst part was that he felt as if… this was right. He was _meant_ to be put down by this monster.

Because his life was _fucking pointless_. He had no reason to exist. _He was fucking pathetic._

The monster before him was doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery. 

At last, he managed to tilt his head up to meet the gaze of his executioner. He could finally clearly see the bright orange eye that stared back at him through one of the eye sockets, observing his shuddering form. 

He felt bile rise in his throat as he stared at that crow mask, and tried not to give into the delusional gratitude he felt towards the creature in front of him. The monster lifted its right hand above its head, aiming the hatchet at Quentin’s chest and only slightly tilting its head. 

At that, a tuft of dark hair slipped out from under the mask and landed on the scarf that the killer wore around his neck. The survivor’s eyes followed the scarf to the dark green jacket the masked assassin wore, and finally down to the dark yellow pants with a bandage wrapped around the left leg, old and definitely familiar. 

There was a moment of clarity in Quentin’s broken mind as he more closely observed the killer. In that one horrifying second, he realized just who he was looking at. The killer realized it too as the boy’s eyes widened, sobs ceasing with his breath caught in his throat. 

The boy’s bloodied mouth opened to stutter one, quiet word into the night air. 

“J-Jake?” 

The one eye he could see remained emotionless at the sound of its owner’s name being uttered, and the hatchet in the killer’s hand rose slightly higher before suddenly being brought down.

 

Quentin did not get the chance to scream again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Quentin gets nae-naed, and Claudette does the smart thing and yeets out of there.  
> Once again, expect next update in about a week. I appreciate all comments and kudos, thanks for reading <3 The next couple of chapters should explain some of the things that are happening.


	5. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the two trials is not pleasant. Chaos breaks among the survivors, and matters seem to grow only more sinister around the killer campfire.

The insomniac awoke to the sound of loud voices booming over the constant crackling of the fire. They were angry, and each one was attempting to drown out the others. The noise hurt the boy’s head and he winced in his half-consciousness, thankfully leaning into the form that helped him sit up. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the rose tattoo on the person’s neck and looked up to give the rugged scrapper a thankful smile. 

He returned it, but grimaced as a particularly enraged scream greeted their ears. The older man glared at the people standing around the campfire, shaking his head as the screams bubbled down once more to aggravated muttering. 

David felt Quentin freeze in his arms and looked down, the worried frown on his face prompting him to speak. Memories of the trial had swarmed over Quentin far too quickly, and he felt dizzy from the jarring amount of images that flooded his brain and the phantom pain that spread through his body. 

“Lad? Ye’ alright?” the scrapper’s voice broke through his delirium. 

“Did Claudette make it?” Quentin nearly wheezed, barely able to speak. David suddenly understood the younger man’s strange behavior and squeezed the boy tighter in an attempt at comfort. 

“She did, lad, she made it ‘ere fine and dandy-“

“Wasn’t there another trial? Same time as ours?” Quentin interrupted him, a jaded expression upon his face. 

David nodded, and when the sleepless man went to speak he stopped him.

“No deaths. Only person ‘e managed to touch was Bill.”

Quentin’s eyes traveled away from David’s face once more to stare into the flames of the fire beside them, subconsciously nodding. 

The older man took in the boy's face. Though Quentin's face held no emotion, he could see the inner turmoil through his dark eyes. David gave a sad sigh.  
“Tha’s not how yer trial went, is it?”

Quentin took a breath before being interrupted by yet another shriek. 

“What the _fuck_ are we supposed to do!” a high voice pierced the air.

“Guys, calm down, they wouldn’t want us to-“ 

“What do we care what they would _want_ us to do! Fucking traitors-“

“Why would they just leave us!?“

Quentin attempted to follow the voices and find their respective owners, but there were too many of them. They just kept overlapping and feeding his growing headache. 

“Well, maybe they didn’t _leave_ you morons! Something must have happened to them-“

“HEY!” 

Quentin jumped and looked up at the man beside him who was touching his temple in annoyance. 

“If ye’ want ta blabber, do it somewhere else! This noise isn’t healthy fer the rest of us,” the brawler huffed, settling his second arm around Quentin who in turn looked down, a clear red hue appearing on his cheeks. 

It was true. Their voices were beginning to be more than just unpleasant. 

“The hell does that have to do with anything, King? We’re missing not one, but _two_ fucking teammates, and last time we checked, they’re the ones that are _cleaving holes in our backs_! So your headache can wait!” the red-faced athlete spoke and approached the seated man with clenched fists. 

He squeezed Quentin protectively before glaring back at her only to be interrupted by yet another voice, albeit far calmer. 

“We don’t have to continue the conversation here, Meg,” the soothing voice of the botanist was music to the sleepy boy’s ears.

David turned to give the four-eyed woman a thankful smile before taking in her state. Though her voice had sounded collected, her face was anything but. The distress was clear upon her features, and she seemed on the verge of tears. 

She hadn’t met either of the killers face-to-face, but their appearances were still described to her, and so were all of the theories as to who they might be. 

Instead, he turned back to Meg and watched her angrily stomp off. The rest of the standing survivors huffed, some rolled their eyes, and turned to follow the red-haired woman who stalked further into the woods surrounding the campfire. Claudette nodded once in David’s direction and turned to follow them. 

Alongside David and Quentin, Laurie, Bill, and Jeff remained around the campfire. A long sought after silence finally filled the air, but even with the company, it felt lonely. 

“From the very beginning I was scared, you know,” the sole feminine voice interrupted the quiet. “Because I knew that eventually, something like this would happen.” 

Quentin tried to meet Laurie’s gaze but she kept it glued to the fire separating them. 

“We never see the human side of them, only the monster… that is, of course, if we didn’t _know_ the human side. But sometimes, we do,” she continued.

“Maybe I don’t have the clearest or fondest memories of him, but I knew Michael. Somewhat, at least. Knew him before he became ‘The Shape’. So I always knew he was something more than just a… a monster in a mask but the Entity always seemed to boil him down to nothing but… just that. So it would make sense that the rest of them were once human, don’t you think?”

The rhetorical question hangs in the air. A subtle wind blows from seemingly nowhere. The endless campfire seems to glow brighter between them. 

And it was true, 

They must have all once been human after all. 

…

A deep, rough chuckle was the first thing the saboteur heard upon entering the campfire space once more. Freezing, he scanned the area in foolish hopes of finding human faces when… he found nothing but darkness and monstrous silhouettes in the distance. He was completely out of breath as he tilted the crow mask on his head up to breathe easier, thankful for the fresh air. A figure suddenly approached him from just beyond the darkness, and despite himself, Jake felt fear grasp him. 

From beyond the tree line appeared none other than the Trapper, a sharpened trap in his left hand and the infamous bloodied cleaver in the other. His stance was not intimidating, however, as he held himself surprisingly casually. There was no hint of aggression in his entire form. It was bizarre. 

Jake internally shuddered at the chuckle but did not understand the cause of the killer’s amusement until he took a proper look at himself. The scent of copper and death was all too quickly overwhelming and he had to stop breathing from his nose. 

The sight of his body filled him with nausea as he realized just how filthy he actually was. Almost every single inch of his jacket was covered in dark red stains, and Jake swore that he somehow felt _heavier_. 

“Not bad for a brat,” the monster in front of him suddenly spoke. Jake’s head whipped back up to stare at him, eyes wide with surprise. He had not expected the beast of a man to actually speak. At that, the killer gave only another chuckle before walking over and settling down on a nearby log. 

After a moment, Jake quietly huffed out a breath and turned away from his fellow killer… no, that didn't sound right.

He was not a monster. 

Just because the Entity had gotten into his head inside of the trial didn’t mean he’d lost his grasp on sanity outside of it. It was just one slip up. One second he had let himself give in to that horrible voice inside of his head before snapping out of it. But another look at his clothes told him it was a second too long. 

“Can’t say the same for your mate, though,” the voice behind him spoke once more. A small burst of both anger and dread burned through him at the amusement in that statement as he turned to glare at the other killer. The Trapper did nothing but lay the trap in his hand onto his lap and open it before suddenly glancing back up at Jake with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

The glance was more than enough. The dread overpowered the anger in his system tenfold as he suddenly felt a pull towards the forest and away from the fire. Petrified, the saboteur turned on his heel and ran into the woods, following the tugging sensation and hoping the fear bubbling in his chest was not about to be justified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5! And pretty much everyone except for big boy Trapper is havin quite a bad time.  
> Hopefully, we'll get into exactly what happened in the trials and why in the next couple of chapters :)


	6. Method to the Madness

“Quentin, we need you to really focus for a second,” Laurie’s stern voice broke the silence of the campfire once more. 

The boy in question lifted his head from his neighbor’s shoulder to stare blankly at the sole survivor. David grumbled under his breath as the dreamwalker’s rare moment of rest was interrupted, but said nothing else as he helped the boy sit up. 

“Did you feel anything strange at the very beginning of… _that_ trial?” Laurie paused with a wince at the mention of the round that had disturbed the campfire peace significantly. The woman could feel David’s annoyed stare on her form but chose to ignore it, feeling it was necessary to ask this particular question. 

Quentin frowned in his state of half-consciousness, mulling over the question before a sour look appeared on his features. “Beginning, you say?”

Laurie nodded, and the boy sighed. “Well, it felt unnaturally hot for a moment, as if lava had coursed through me just as I got up off of the ground. I guess I felt light headed… it caught me off guard because I usually only start trials like that with Freddy.” At the mention of the Nightmare, he shrunk into the scrapper next to him. Laurie tilted her head thoughtfully, and a hard look solidified on her face. David didn’t like it one bit. 

“Telltale signs that you’re the obsession,” she stated. Quentin’s breath hitched.  
The Obsession.

_Of course._

He had been the obsession during that horrible round. He had previously only felt it around Freddy because…

Quentin stopped himself mid thought, but not before a revolted shiver passed through his body. David felt it and worriedly glanced at him. The boy shook off the attention and turned back to the woman in front of them. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a part of the new killers’ power?” he asked, but inwardly already new the answer. Laurie nodded weakly. 

“I felt normal when I woke up,” Claudette piped up from David’s left. “And I think everyone else in our trial did too.”

Well, that answered that question. 

“I also felt fine when I woke up,” David’s gruff voice sounded, “but I know for a fact that Meg didn’t.” A dark chuckle left him as he adjusted his hold on Quentin and moved a hand to settle his chin on. “Wouldn’t shut ‘er bloody mouth, the second I found ‘er she was blabberin’ about it bein’ ‘too hot’ an’ how ‘er head wouldn’t stop spinnin’.”

“There were obsessions during both trials,” Laurie stated the obvious.  
“There are obsessions during every trial,” Meg snapped from the other side of the campfire, having picked up on the conversation the moment it included her. 

“Exactly, but this time the Obsession obviously mattered,” Laurie turned towards the athlete. Huffing, the red haired girl sat up straighter and crossed her arms. 

“Oh yeah?” she pompously retorted. 

Quentin remembered a much different character than the one Meg now portrayed. One that was far more patient, kind, and understanding. Her evolution into someone snappy, impatient and furious outlined her deteriorating mental state. The disappearances had obviously done more than just disturb her. 

Thankfully, Laurie ignored the sarcastic tone and stepped into the middle of their little clearing to better face the majority of the survivors. 

“Two obsessions, and six regular survivors. Every single one of you who entered the trials reported feeling some sort of emotional unease. With no descriptions of other unexpected or unnatural occurrences from either trials, we can hypothesize that this emotional unease is exploited by the new killers to slow us and track us down and is therefore most likely their 'power'. By some of you this unease was even described as, I quote, ‘emotional agony’,” Laurie began, looking around the campfire for confirmation. Some heads nodded while others turned to better face the sole survivor, both curious and afraid of what she was to say next. 

“And while accounts of said ‘emotional agony’ remained mostly the same, its description differed when it came from two specific individuals,” she continued, glancing at Quentin. “I’m sure you can figure out who I mean.” 

The campfire was filled with a tense silence as slowly, survivor after survivor came to their own conclusions. “Everyone except for Meg and Quentin described a feeling akin to disappointment on a spectrum, some describing a more subdued version while others described it as the most painful they had ever felt,” the blonde continued, speaking slowly as to ensure that everyone understood what she was saying. Claudette and Nea exchanged fearful glances as Laurie approached the dreamwalker. The boy physically froze up as she neared him, instantly bothered by the feeling of eyes watching him from all directions. 

“But from what I recall, you described something entirely different,” she spoke softly. “I know its uncomfortable to think about, but you need to-“

“If the boy doesn’t want ta, he doesn’t need ta talk,” the larger man next to Quentin snapped. The scrapper had evidently seen enough, and was unwilling to sit silently any longer. Internally, the younger man was beyond grateful, but knew he had to speak up regardless, no matter how unpleasant or painful it would be. 

“David, I know what you mean, but this is-“ the blonde began.

“You don’t _know_. None of us do! We can’t understand what happened to the poor boy, and I’d rather take it slow than ‘ave ‘im snap again-“

“It’s like being on the receiving end,” the voice of the athlete cut through the argument. All heads instantly turned to listen to the woman. 

Laurie’s eyebrows rose in surprise as Meg got to her feet, lightly dusting her hands off of her legs before approaching the space that Laurie had previously occupied in the center of the campfire. 

Meg didn’t meet the prying eyes of the others as she spoke up, gesturing vaguely with her hands. “I didn’t really get physically hurt in the trial so… guess it’s not that hard for me to talk about.”

After awkwardly clearing her throat, she continued. “What I mean by ‘being on the receiving end’ is feeling like you’re the one that everyone’s ‘disappointed’ in.” The invisible quotation marks around the word ‘disappointed’ were obvious. 

“Not disappointment,” Claudette meekly spoke up. “More like… feeling as if you’ve been betrayed.” David hummed in affirmation, and others who had been present all collectively expressed their agreement with the more fitting term. 

“So then you feel like you’re the one that betrayed everyone,” Quentin’s broken voice floated above the crackling of the fire. 

A hint of sadness flashed across Laurie’s features as she stepped forward in an attempt to comfort him before he leaned away from David and put a hand to his head. 

“You feel like the most worthless dirt to ever walk the earth, as if your existence is… is _meaningless_. Y-you just fucking--give up on the spot because you feel like that would be better than j-just screwing everything over with your mere presence,” the boy began to ramble, pure misery overtaking him. 

“You feel like everyone hates you,” Meg continued, “and that you deserve it. Every single decision you make is a mistake.” Her own face was scrunched up, and her eyes looked glassy as the firelight reflected off of them. 

“I-I just _fucking stood there,_ ” Quentin cried, digging both hands into his curly hair as he attempted to repress the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. “I just let him kill me. I didn’t even stop him because it all felt so _pointless anyway and I just-_ “

At that point, the boy was pulled harshly into the scrapper’s chest and held securely as he began to shake. Holding him close, David stood and moved further away from the campfire and towards the tree line with Quentin cradled to him. With only a short and angry glance back at Laurie, their forms disappeared into the darkness. 

David managed to glance Nea standing up and leading Meg back to a log before the trees covered his sight and they managed to escape the prying eyes and questions. With both determination and rage fueling his stride, King followed a familiar path into the deeper woods, searching for the body of water they had discovered not too long ago. For reasons unbeknownst to him, water always seemed to calm the dreamwalker down. With a soft hush, the scrapper approached a signature glint of water in the distance and upon reaching it, lowered the boy to the ground. 

“S-shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know what-“ the boy started but choked and fell forward. “I’m fine. Was fine. This is stupid.” David lowered himself to the younger man’s level and instantly wrapped his arms around the shuddering form.

“Not stupid, love, you got to let it out at some point,” King assured. A long, heavy sigh left his mouth.

“I-I’m just tired, and…” Quentin spoke weakly. David quietly hushed him.

“Everybody’s got a breakin’ point.”

At that, the boy attempted to respond but choked once more on his own tears, moving to wipe them from his face before feeling a large hand brush the wetness off of his cheeks. 

At last, a somewhat comfortable silence filled the air. Away from the unpleasant interrogations, Quentin allowed himself to rest his weary head on his friend’s shoulder once more. 

The dreamwalker realized he was grateful beyond measure that the man beside him was taken by the Entity. It was a thought that left a sour taste in his mouth, but even the guilt couldn’t force him to lie.

Without him, he would’ve surely lost his mind. 

…

_"It hurts…"_

“I know, God, I know- just hang on.”

“Everything always _h-hurts_ now, I j-just want this to stop…”

“We can’t, Dwight… we can’t give up! We can’t abandon them permanently-“

“Jake I hurt them, I s-spilled their blood and it…”

“…Dwight?”

_“It told me what you did.”_

A spike of dread traveled through Jake’s chest as he sat back from the hunched over figure that was desperately grasping at his arms. 

_“It punished me because you did so much better. It punished me because while I had let them all go, you hunted each and every single one of them down.”_

Feeling nausea build in his stomach, Jake attempted once more to lift the bleeding man before him. 

“Dwight-“

_“All except for Claudette. Only because she was one of us. The very first to enter this hell. But eventually, you'll hunt her down too.”_

The voice coming from Dwight’s throat seemed twisted and demonic as it rung through his head, the words echoing and echoing within his skull. Something told him that it may have been more than just Dwight speaking to him at the moment, but he was too petrified to take notice. Once more, he shakily leaned down to help the only friend he had left up when the smaller man lifted his head to stare directly into Jake’s wide eye. 

_“How can you possibly speak of not abandoning them, when you have already resorted to slaughtering them?”_

The angry, red lines surrounding Dwight’s wounded eye glowed in the darkness, and the new blood that had welled from the reopened wound seeped generously down his cheeks and into his opened mouth. 

Somewhere in the depths of Dwight’s one orange eye, Jake saw resistance to the evil within. But he knew without a doubt that if he were to look into a reflection, he would see no such thing. 

For he had let himself give in.

And one time was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the David/Quentin is a little more than implied at this point. Oops.  
> Everyone's still having a pretty bad time, but at least now things are hopefully starting to make a little more sense. A long time ago, I remember someone writing about killer Dwight and making his power be extreme sadness that made all of the survivors depressed. I thought that idea was brilliant, which is why my version holds similarity to it, so I would like to quickly apologize for incorporating that idea into this story. 'Emotional agony' just makes things so much more fun. Additionally, in my opinion, simple sadness isn't the worst thing someone can feel ;)  
> Feedback is greatly appreciated. Have an amazing day/night <3


	7. Hesitance is Deadly Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second trial commences. They say the first time is always the worst, but the Entity doesn't usually play by the rules.

The Entity decided that it had been merciful for long enough. The survivors could feel it, the howling coming from around their little clearing becoming more primal and desperate. The leaves rustled unnaturally in the trees that covered their view of the night sky, or where the night sky should have been. 

The Traitors had not been seen in another trial since the first one that had left a good amount of survivors traumatized. They figured the nickname was fitting enough.

The group refused to call the two missing survivors by their names. Continuing to think of them as human was a death wish. Not even Claudette was naïve enough to hope for mercy from them. 

And while their absence was relieving, it only added to the anxiety that built around their little campfire. Every single one of them knew that another meeting was in order soon. It was inevitable. 

So when a sudden wave of ice washed over the survivors, they knew it was time. Four individuals were pulled up and out of their respective seats around the fire and drawn towards the tree line. 

To his dismay, Quentin was roused from his restless sleep by a tugging sensation in his gut. Groaning, he slowly sat up and allowed himself to shuffle to his feet before being supported by a strong arm. 

Looking up, he caught sight of the scrapper’s uncharacteristically gentle eyes and despite himself, let loose a small smile. The older man returned it before helping the boy up. Walking to the edge of the campfire, Quentin turned to properly part with him before being silenced.

“I’m comin’ love,” David assured the dreamwalker. The boy sighed, both in relief and slight guilt. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Adam and Laurie following them. 

“Is that a good thing?” he croaked out, raising an eyebrow at the scrapper. 

He received nothing but a half-hearted glare and pout at which Quentin’s grin only grew wider.  
“Don’t you get pissy with me,” he warned and grinned as the younger man burst out in weak laughter. 

The laughter died rather quickly when thick fog suddenly swallowed the group.

Quentin’s vision went dark before bright light suddenly struck him. Gasping, he covered his eyes before slowly opening them, taking in his surroundings at lightning speed. 

The Autohaven Wreckers loomed around him, and a green sky enveloped the entirety of the arena they found themselves in. 

Aazarov’s Resting Place. 

At least he knew who his teammates were, Quentin thought bitterly. There were times where he would simply pass out at the campfire and wake up in a trial with no idea which of his fellow survivors had joined him. He suddenly noticed something else. 

He definitely felt unnaturally awake. Getting to his feet with more energy than he’d had in what felt like months, he instantly spotted a generator only a few meters away. Striding over to it, he knelt and allowed his muscle memory to take over his fingers and rearrange the wires inside. 

The silence began to unnerve him the moment his generator reached around halfway to completion. Cold sweat gathered on the back of his neck, and he couldn’t help but feel as if he was being watched. Darting his eyes around, he pointedly searched for a glint of white hiding amongst the trees, or a strange glimmer in the air. 

But no matter how hard he stared or for how long, nothing ever happened. He finished his generator without incident. The lights above him gleamed as the generator under his fingers roared to life, and Quentin snuck off into the middle section that separated the two sides of the map. Another generator boomed to life far in the distance, on the other side of the arena.

A sudden scream pierced the air and Quentin immediately flinched, tracking the sound down to somewhere behind him. 

Frowning, he turned back to survey the area he had very recently traversed in search of the killer but found… nothing. Strange, he was sure he had heard the scream come from-

Another yell broke him out of his thoughts as he whirled his head in search of the red aura that would allow him to locate his downed teammate, and found it all the way on the other side of the map, far ahead of him. Quentin stood frozen for several seconds before shaking his head.

He must have really miscalculated where the sound had come from. And he was definitely more alert than usual, meaning his sense of direction was supposed to be heightened. Something was… off. 

Well, more off than it usually was. 

He silently cursed the Entity for the umpteenth time before locking eyes on a generator not too far away, hiding just behind a wall. Humming to himself in a somewhat pathetic attempt at remaining calm, he tried not to think of the next scream that was to come in mere moments. The previous sounds of distress had been too smooth to be David’s, but were far too deep to be a female’s. Must have been Adam. Quentin inwardly prayed for the man. 

It came a tad sooner than he thought, and no matter how long he had prepped himself for it, he still winced at the agony in that ragged voice. Looking ahead of him, he attempted to at least discern how far the teacher was. But when he looked up, the red aura was nowhere in sight. Frowning, he squinted his eyes and carefully let go of the generator in front of him. 

Perhaps they were against the Hag and her curses? He could clearly recall one of them causing severe aura blindness, but quickly remembered that he needed to be hit for the blindness to apply, and he had not even caught sight of the killer. 

Sighing, he lowered his head before catching sight of something glinting in the corner of his eye. Turning the other way, Quentin’s mouth dropped open.

Getting to his feet, he rubbed his eyes harshly before taking a look once more.  
He wasn’t hallucinating.

_He saw two auras._

And _both_ were behind him. 

The absurdity of it didn’t let him even remember the fact that the downed survivor had been on the other side of the _map_ when he went down. 

Something was horribly wrong. And all too suddenly, a threatening heartbeat boomed in his ears, and his chest swelled with something awful, and far too familiar. 

…

“What the fuck?” David huffed out as he turned a corner, finally stumbling upon one of the auras he had been running towards. He swore he had heard only one scream, but he supposed he might have missed a second one while focused on a generator. But he suddenly wished he had paid just a tad bit more attention.

Although a hook hung in the exact spot he had seen the aura, Adam was most definitely not on it. 

Groaning in frustration, he eyed the aura in the distance that was now struggling against the spidery legs of the Entity. Gathering his breath, he bolted in its direction. 

This was some kind of new trick. A horrible one at that. 

It would waste so much of their time. 

Running as fast as he possibly could, David tore through the tall grass and half broken walls, keeping track of the red aura slowly growing nearer.

Finally, with a relieved sigh, he reached the aura and turned the corner to find a sweaty Adam struggling with the Entity. The man’s eyes lit up with hope as he saw David, his form visibly relaxing even under the strain of keeping the spidery legs off of his chest. Without wasting another second, the scrapper lifted the teacher off of the hook penetrating his shoulder just as another generator turned on somewhere to their left and expertly lowered him to the ground, instantly tugging him to a corner and ripping out a role of gauze from his pocket. 

David’s heart lurched as he heard the familiar sound of Quentin yelping. Gritting his teeth, he tightly wrapped Adam’s shoulder and barely heard the ‘thank you’ that came from the other man. Before he could turn to walk away, Adam spoke once more.

“Don’t want to prod, but what took you so long?” the teacher innocently questioned.

David turned back to give him an apologetic look. “Somethin’s amiss, lad. The killer’s got a new trick up ‘is sleeve.” Letting out an exhausted sigh, he hung his head. “Saw two auras, ‘n chose the wrong one.” 

Adam was definitely surprised by the answer judging by the way his eyebrows rose. “Two auras?” he repeated. David nodded and froze when he heard their young companion let out another scream, a little closer this time. King bid Adam goodbye and turned to run towards where he’d heard Quentin last. 

…

Quentin struggled violently in the grasp of his captor, angrily banging against the familiar green fabric that flooded his vision. The intoxicating emotions inside of him only heightened the discomfort and pain he felt, and he faintly remembered Laurie’s explanation. The emotions were meant to slow them down.

And they were doing a damn good job. 

The searing pain of a hook being pierced through his shoulder brought him back to reality as he let out an animal like cry into the night sky. Through his welling tears, he glared at the orange eye that peaked out from under the crow mask. 

He was tempted to spit at him, but knew it wouldn’t help. Much to his displeasure, the anger he felt was gradually melting away and transforming into that god-awful feeling of having been betrayed, the very same the others had described back at the campfire. 

That eye twinkled mischievously before disappearing as the killer turned away from the boy and stalked off towards the hook Adam had been pulled off of. He hung helplessly as all too quickly, he heard a ragged yell reach his ears followed by the sound of Adam’s pained screaming. 

How had he found them so quickly? And more importantly, what was the stupid yellow thing that was glowing just outside of his range of sight? Tilting his head with immense discomfort, he turned only to find a yellow aura of someone… hanging. 

Frowning, he made a small noise of confusion before suddenly getting an idea. Weakly lifting his right arm, he closely observed the yellow form in the distance. To his horror, the aura's arm perfectly mirrored his action. 

_Himself_ , he realized with a shiver. 

Pained breaths along with uneven footsteps almost made the dreamwalker cry in relief as David stumbled up to him, carefully lifting him off of the hook. 

“Fucker’s tunnelin’,” he huffed before sloppily embracing Quentin. “Glad I found ya’ on my first try.” 

The boy attempted to smile, but only managed to grimace before he felt blood inch its way up his throat, effectively causing him to cough it out. At the sight of crimson, David King roughly ripped another piece of gauze and patched the boy up. 

Adam shouted into the night one last time as a sharp hatchet embedded itself into his back. Quentin quickly turned his head to the side and surveyed the aura of the survivor.

David’s saddened sigh above him troubled him.

“Is he-?”

“Dead on hook, didn’ get ‘im off in time,” David reluctantly admitted. 

Quentin frowned at that, and returned to survey the aura before freezing. It seemed as if it was convulsing on the ground, its chest repeatedly hitting the ground before suddenly, it stilled. 

The dreamwalker straightened his back as he observed the aura when, to his surprise, it disappeared with an ominous noise. David visibly paled next to him. 

“Fuck me,” the scrapper muttered. Quentin turned to stare incredulously at him. 

“What?” the boy whispered.

David grabbed the younger man’s hand and dragged him in the opposite direction. Looking down at Quentin, his mouth hardened into a grimace. 

 

“He’s got a mori.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  **Doubt**   
>    
>  _Hesitance is deadly, and you are masterful in your manipulation of it. Auras of generators, exit gates, hex totem explosions, downed, and hooked teammates appear in false locations in order to lure survivors in the wrong direction. This ability suffers a cool down of 40/30/20 seconds but applies indefinitely to all exit gates and 2/3/4 generators._
> 
>  
> 
> _"I ran and ran, only god knows how long. But when I reached my destination... I found nothing. Nothing at all," - Lost Tapes_
> 
>  
> 
> When applying for the 50k dead by daylight discord contest, I chose to participate in the Create a Killer/Survivor contest and submitted a similar perk. I just feel like it works great for both the oc killer I created and these bad boys, so apologies for reusing ideas. It just makes things so much more fun, doesn't it?  
> P.S. The second perk was already revealed in a previous chapter... but it will be outlined in further detail in later chapters.


	8. The Traitors - Concept Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Here's some concept art for our two new bad boys. I hope it is at least decent.

/p>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have a chapter up this weekend, although it could be a little short. Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	9. Hesitance is Deadly Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No more fooling around. Things are getting real._

He was clutching his head again. That’s all he seemed to be able to do now. Just hold his head and pray that the voice in his head would fade away.

But it never did. 

Jake… _The Blackbird_ had left his side just a few moments ago. He was probably called into a trial. Why had he walked away with such confidence? Why was he so willing to just turn on the people they had protected and been protected by for what felt like an eternity? 

Dwight didn’t understand, especially not with that horrible voice that just wouldn’t leave his mind. Why? _Why were they here?_

Why was The Blackbird playing along? 

That first trial had been so unfathomably horrible. He hadn’t even really hurt any of… his _prey_ , and it had still torn him apart to dig the piece of glass in his hand into the older man’s shoulder. The sight of blood had made him sick. The screaming in his head made him only sicker. 

And then he had been punished for his poor performance.  
What the hell did the Entity see in him?  
He wasn’t a killer, never would be.

_And neither was Jake._

Yet his efficacy in trials planted serious seeds of doubt in Dwight’s mind. 

_The Blackbird.  
Continuing to refer to him as Jake will only make matters worse. _

Dwight whimpered pathetically into the ground and crudely dug his bloody, bitten fingernails into his scalp. He felt a sudden presence beside him and shrunk away instinctively, curling further into himself.

“Crow,” a gravely voice interrupted the poisonous whispering within his mind.

“ _Don’t call me that,_ ” he barely managed to choke out. 

The presence knelt beside him and took hold of the hands around his head, pulling them away with surprising gentleness. He resisted furiously, blindly clawing at his hair in an attempt to banish the noise that was only growing louder and louder.

“Stop fighting it,” the voice beside him ordered, but the command fell on deaf ears. Dwight shook violently as the hands pulled with more persistence, forcing his fingers to unclamp. 

“No!” he shrieked, attempting to shove himself away from the prying arms. 

“It’s pointless,” the voice stated, and the barely deciphered words bounced around the young man’s frenzied mind. But he couldn’t understand them. Nothing was comprehensible anymore. 

He screamed as the hands that had pried away his own suddenly grasped his sides, heftily lifting him from the ground. Overwhelmed with fear and despair, the young man kicked uncontrollably at the massive figure that was manhandling him. 

An unmistakable stench of blood invaded his nose as his face was suddenly pressed into leather. He cried with new vigor, but his sounds of distress were muffled by the thick fabric covering his face, and he was helpless as the hands at his sides suddenly encircled his middle and kept him pressed firmly against the bloodied surface. 

One huge palm grasped his head and suddenly the voice of the other was clashing against the whispering growing ever angrier in his mind. 

“Don’t resist,” it spoke. “Trust me, don’t resist.”

Dwight weakly attempted to shove the figure holding him off but was met with unstoppable resistance. New tears welled in his eyes and mixed with the blood that still leaked from under the bandage. 

The hands around him grasped him harder as pitiful sobs wracked his body. He didn’t know how he could even hear the voice just above him over the noise in his head. It was the only thing that pierced the unbearable whispering, and he suddenly found himself desperately holding onto it. 

“I don’t know how this sabotaging prick brought you into this, but now that you are here, you _can not resist_ ,” it explained slowly, as if it was aware of the chaos in Dwight’s mind. 

He found himself shakily grasping the leather that was invading his senses, focusing only on the voice that continued to speak into his ear. 

“It will punish you if you do, and the punishment will only get worse. The Entity does not pity, and it certainly does not show mercy.” 

Dwight thought he felt a massive hand move to grasp the back of his head.

“It will find new ways to break you each time, more and more horrific until you finally succumb. And you _will_. It is not a matter of if, only a matter of when.” 

The whispering in his head reached a crescendo, and his vision darkened. 

“Don’t give it a reason to hurt you, boy. Give in now. It will be easier that way.” 

The leader couldn’t help but reach for his head once more but felt a large hand wrap around his wrist, effectively stopping it in its tracks. 

“Submit,” the voice growled. 

And all of his resistance crumbled. The whispers flooded his brain, completely taking over as he went limp in the larger figure’s hold. 

_My Crow…_

He felt the arms holding him relax slightly as the whispering finally ceased, falling away to make way for a sickly sweet voice. 

_Serve, and reap the rewards._

“That brat can’t keep it off your back for long,” the real voice beside him was back again, although much quieter.

_You are destined for bloodshed…_

“You have to help him.”

A deep sigh was the last thing the Crow heard before his vision faded, and his mind was filled with blissful silence. 

_“You have to help us…”_

…

Laurie wasn’t surprised when she felt heat rush through her body the moment her weary eyes opened to take a look around. She also wasn’t surprised by the brush of an uneasy feeling ghosting her chest the moment a faint heartbeat reached her ears. 

She was, however, surprised at the speed at which they lost one of their trial mates. A sudden energy had filled her as the red aura far, far away from her faded, and with it brought new determination to survive.

She knew with certainty that such energy only came around at the cost of someone else’s life. Lord knows she had felt it enough times. 

With two generators to go, the odds were not looking in their favor. But she supposed that at first, they had a chance. 

But that wasn’t the case anymore. Not after she had found Quentin gasping for air like a fish out of water, eyes wide with blood pouring copiously down his front from his open mouth, choking painfully until death had been kind enough to claim him. 

She had rushed towards him, barely registering the slumped form on the ground just beside him until yet another pale face had greeted her vision. The empty eyes of the rugged scrapper had stared hauntingly into her own as he faced the world with a final expression of anger and despair. 

She had knelt down, completely powerless as she allowed herself to hold the hand of the choking boy before her, attempting to make his last living moments just that more bearable. 

But of course, it was in vain. Somewhere in the distance she heard an ear-splitting bell toll, and suddenly the ground beneath her began to glow, flowing orange veins spreading across the dirt. The world around her shook mercilessly as the trial crumbled before her very eyes, but to her the end was simply background noise. 

She could not move, only sag further into the ground beside her two deceased companions. All of the energy she had gathered from their deaths had suddenly disappeared. 

_They’re dead because of you!_

_You look out for no one but yourself, you traitorous coward._

Barely managing to scrape up the energy to move her hand, she lifted it to hold her weary head.

_All you’ve ever done is hide while everyone else around you died. You are not a survivor, you are a wimp!_

She knew the thoughts bombarding her were not real. They weren’t hers. But…

_She still couldn’t move._

No matter how hard she tried to block them out, they seeped past the mental barriers she had perfected over years and years and into her fragile consciousness hiding deep within. They awakened trauma and terror she had suppressed for an eternity and now, she was paralyzed with fear. 

She wondered vaguely if Quentin experienced this level of weakness when he was the obsession, or if the new killers’ powers had grown stronger. She noticed that in the grand scheme of things, it did not matter. They would only grow stronger. 

This was nowhere near the lowest level of hell. 

Heavy footsteps alerted her to the dark figure approaching from her right, a bloodied hatchet in hand. She managed to weakly turn her head to glare defiantly at it, staring it down with all of her might. 

It was all she could do. Her limbs had turned to lead.  
She still could not move.

She couldn’t help but feel the reason for her paralysis was linked to the monster observing her. The killer approached cautiously, each stride calculated and precise. 

At last, he stopped right next to her. Her neck hurt as she craned it up to continue the staring contest she had begun with him. The one orange eye did not waver and did not blink, only stared back emptily. It held no familiarity, no hope. No anger. Not even bloodlust.

Only emptiness. 

This caught Laurie off guard. Bloodlust was essential in trials. 

She opened her mouth to cockily mock the monster about to end her before hearing a thud in the grass. Breaking the eye contact she had established for just a second, she glanced down to find the bloodied hatchet buried in the ground. 

With furrowed eyebrows, she looked back at the figure towering over her and suddenly... saw something.

In the depths of that glowing eye she saw a glimpse of recognition.  
Dare she say, followed by guilt. 

Perhaps even a whispered utterance of her name.

And then, a final toll.  
The ground beneath her erupted, and the darkness swallowed her whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **Paralysis**  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> _You become obsessed with one Survivor. As long as your obsession is alive, he or she is granted 4/3/2% faster movement speed. At the moment the exit gates are powered, your obsession suffers from an overwhelming wave of fear and helplessness which leaves him or her paralyzed. The obsession is unable to perform actions in any category for 40/50/60 seconds after exit gates are powered and suffers from a 4/7/10% speed reduction._
> 
>  
> 
> _"It is the worst possible torture. A punishment worse than death - humiliation." - Rafael, Lost Tapes_
> 
> I apologize for posting late, I was rather busy over the weekend. I should have another chapter out around the end of this week.


End file.
